Winds to the East
by ShadowedSidhe
Summary: The story follows a young Elven druid from her first adventure beyond home through all that the world beyond her grove has to throw at her.
1. Startling Arrivals

Isilmé tilted her face to the bright sunlight and smiled into its warmth as she crested the hill.

It had been three weeks now since she'd set foot beyond her father's druid grove on her way to the humanr's main city of Storm Keep and now she could see it' s massive stone walls nestled into a shallow valley, pressed against the mountain face like a nursing infant. She turned with her clear smile to the young lean wolf that was loping from the thick, shadowed tree line to her side.

"We're here Narmo." The pup seemed to smile back at her, panting softly in the summer's heat. She absently scratched just behind his right ear as her quicksilver eyes followed the path her feet would take to the city's main gates. It seemed a metropolis of tents resided across the flat plain between the hills and the castle walls. Cloth of every style and color rippled gently in the wind, spread out before her like a kaleidoscope playground. She adjusted the single strap of her leather bag more comfortably across her shoulder and headed down the hill.

Even before she descended the hill completely a million scents caught the breeze to find her. Foods and spices, perfumes and potions, it was all so new to her. As she entered the sprawling lanes of cloth and wooden frames she was astounded the buzz of life. People crammed the narrow makeshift alleys, vying for space, attention, or a clear way to make their way through to the next booth, though everyone made way for a donkey drawn cart, driven by a grizzled man who paid no heed to what was ahead of him. Here and there, back and forth were shouts from this vendor or that, slander against this man's ability to work armor, boasts of the potency of this man's tonics.

Watching in rapt fascination, Isilmé didn't notice Narmo tearing through the tall grass behind her, after a rabbit and headed straight for the mass of humanity. As something from a nightmare Narmo emerged from the grass at a full run, jaws gaping as he swooped down on the terrified rabbit. It was only a matter of moments before the marketplace changed from a bustling business area to a screaming bloody riot. Before her mind would recognize what was happening, Isilmé sat in horror as she watched three panicked men knock over a woman, throwing an infant from her arms. The baby's screams seemed enough to pierce Isilm's stupor and she bolted into action.

Frantically she endeavored to maneuver through the writhing hysteria, trying with all her might make her voice heard above the shouting and cries of pain and shock. If only she could catch up with the wolf this would all be over and dealt with, but body after body blocked her way, pushing her back with a force much more powerful than her own strength. With a sudden burst of desperation she launched herself into the air, over the heads of her obstacles. She landed sharply on someone's shoulder, but she quickly shifted her weight to her other foot, propelling herself forward onto someone else's back. She felt them tumble beneath her but she fought forward nimbly, Narmo in her sights again, seemingly unaware of the uproar around him as he continued as best as he could after his prey.

"Narmo," she yelled with such force and volume she thought her lungs would break through her chest,"_Auta! _" As quickly as it had begun it was now over. Narmo froze mid-step and sat, his tongue lolling happily from the side of his mouth. Her words seemed to work not only on her companion but the humans around her as well. They appeared to notice her for the first time now as she tumbled from a man's shoulders to the ground rather unceremoniously.

Isilmé went to Narmo's side quickly, not wanting to look at the carnage behind her though she could feel hundreds of disdainfully incredulous eyes boring into her back. As she hurried herself and Narmo as quickly as possible away from the ruined market she shuddered at the silence in her ears.

She couldn't hear that baby crying anymore.


	2. Within the walls

Her feet were moved with urgency. She ushered Narmo along at a brisk pace, constantly turning her head to see if she was being followed. She kept wishing that it hadn't happened, that no one had noticed her. Why did _Atar_ have to send her? He could have sent any number of his druids, or any of the elves from the village for that matter. He was respected and important, of course he didn't have time to make the journey on his own and arrive here on time but why did he have to pick her. She had just taken into the fold of the adults within the grove. She was barely grown and would have liked nothing better than to have hidden in the forest for at least a few more years but when she heard him say in his soft calm voice that he believed in her she couldn't refuse him.

She heard the steady thrum of metal armor coming from behind her, coupled with an equally steady set of footfalls. She drew herself tightly against the wall, pulling Narmo to her. Her heart beat loudly in her chest as she watched a city guard pass her by without so much as a glance, leading seven others behind him who were equally unaware of her presence. They left her there as she hid desperately, listening to her heart slow back to normal.

How could she have muddled such an easy task? All she had to do was arrive, attend the new king's coronation and finally recite the words of peace on behalf of the Elves and the druids within the Elven lands. She hadn't even made it to the castle's walls and already disaster lay in her wake. What would _Atar_ say when he found out? And he would find out, there was no doubt about that.

Like a refugee she wound her wary way to the main gates, staring up in awe at the pure size of the walls and the sheer quantity of people streaming ever slowly past the guards, who would occasionally inspect a wagon bed or flip through papers. She looked to all these people in their fineries, Lords and merchants and craftsmen. Gradually her eyes made it down to herself, swathed in leather and simple linens, covered in the dirt of travel. As best she could she wiped and dusted away the grime, picking the leaves and twigs from her raven braids. When finally her efforts were all but exhausted she took her place in the line.

It was not hard to see that none of them paid her any mind, though the ones that did would see the wolf at her side and make some distance. The flood of people moved more quickly than she had anticipated and before she could think of what she would say she was looking into the weathered, bored expression of one of the city's guardsmen.

"Name?" he asked not bothering to look up from the muddled table of parchment and inks.

"Isilmé Naïlo," she answered slowly, finding the human's language to be slow and hard to form. The guard slowly lifted his eyes from his work, upon hearing the strange accent.

"An Elf." His voice held a note of quiet surprise. "And what would an Elf be wantin' in here?" Isilmé arced a brow suspiciously. Surely they had known she was coming.

"I have been sent here on behalf of my father, Troivis Naïlo, Master of the Grove and Councilor of my people to..."

"Alright, alright! No need to start throwin' titles around, Miss." With tired eyes he scanned the tiny print scrolled out before him. "Right then, Miss. On yer way...Old up just a minute!" Isilmé, who had taken a mere handful of steps past the table froze and spun on her heals. "Tha's a wolf there ain't it!"

"This is Narmo, my companion."

"He wouldn't happen to be the same wolf what started the riot over in merchant's square now would he? That were a sight, so's I'm told. Just had eight men who were down there report up. No one hurt, lucky thing that was."

"No one hurt?" Isilmé asked cautiously. The guard continued as if he had forgotten why he'd stopped her in the first place.

"Well, there were a infant with a nasty bump to the head but nothing' he won't live through." He grinned as if the entire story were an amusing thing that had happened to him long ago when he still had a full head of hair. As if suddenly awoken the smile left him and he looked at her sternly. "We can't be havin' beasts runnin' about the place. He stays out here."

Confused by the concept of telling an animal where or where not to go, Isilmé knelt bringing her face level with Narmo's, a hand resting on his neck.

"It would better for us both if you left me for now," she told him softly in her native tongue. "I will call to you when it is time to leave." Narmo answered with a series of short barks and nuzzled her face before bounding back they way they had come. Isilmé watched him go then nodded politely to the guard before further approaching the gates.

Beyond the massive wooden doors was a long dark tunnel as she traveled through the roughly cut passage through the thick walls. Even as she walked Isilmé could feel the impression of the tunnel slowly hugging closer, squeezing tighter around her. When daylight beamed ahead of her she finally felt as if she could breathe again, drawing in deep healthy doses. The tunnel slowly widened and finally she emerged into vast open grounds, surrounded by the safety of the city walls.

It felt to her a lie. The sun shone down, the wind moved over the people milling about yet the walls were still there. They stood in a mockery of the natural surroundings, holding them tightly, imprisoning everything within. She felt a shudder move down her spine.

Inside the city was more organized that outside. There were no crowded lanes of goods and services, the crowds were thinner and quieter, a class of people with what they referred to as better breeding. She could hear the ring of steel against steel somewhere off behind a cluster of ornamental trees. No doubt the city guard, or a blacksmith. Surely a city this large would have many. The wind carried to her the slightly familiar smell of dogs and horses.

She waited a moment, scanning her surroundings before moving. She needed to find the castle itself. Anything to escape the stares she perceived from the people all about her, taking note of her shabby appearance. No doubt many of these individuals had never seen an elf in their lifetime and she refused to be a spectacle any longer.

It didn't take much to spot the castle huddled under the protective shadow of the mountain against the far wall of the city and the path was relatively clear. She straightened herself to her full height though she knew it couldn't be too impressive to the humans around her, whose smallest member was easily several inches taller than she. After a quick check of her equipment she pointed herself at the castle and made her way with carefully placed steps, nervous of tripping before such a large group of onlookers.


	3. One step closer

The doors of the castle itself were miniature versions of the city's gates, though they were still large enough that they couldn't have been moved by a single person. They were opened just wide enough that the single file line of people could fit through slowly. Posted just to either side of the gap were two guards, more heavily and ornamentally armored than those Isilmé had seen earlier. Their faces were stern and their eyes stared pointedly forward. As she passed between them Isilmé looked closely, just to make sure they were actually breathing, for they stood as still as the deep rooted trees back in her father's grove.

Inside the walls were lined with similar soldiers, though these men seemed more at ease, smiling here and nodding there. Walking by Isilmé caught the last line of an obviously funny joke about a dwarf and someone's wife. The thick stone here was evenly hewed and worn dull by the passing ages. Brightly colored tapestries of heraldry and iconic scenes of battle hung with pride, glittering in the sunlight streaming through the tall colored panes of the few windows. Her steady footfalls were muffled by the plush rug beneath her, and she neither heard nor expected the bump from behind as a young boy scurried by her with a gold plated pitcher. He paused a moment and smiled sheepishly before moving on his hurried way.

The grand corridor opened suddenly to the king's court. The ceiling seemed to stretch forever, fighting towards the sky. Milling about were all manner of beings. In a far corner near an unnecessarily large hearth a group of musicians laughed bawdily and tossed insults and compliments as if they were confetti. Seated around a dozen large wooden tables were what Isilmé assumed were the nobles of the human lands, who spoke quietly amongst themselves. She caught sight of the young cupbearer, standing on a dais beside the old king, who held out his half empty cup as he received his visitors. Seated to the king's right was a man, grown by the standards of the humans.

He stood tall though slight of build. His smooth clean cheeks and his long proud nose were reminiscent of the king which had been described to her. On his surcoat, over his chest was embroidered the fist of Heironious. He too received the droves of people, and Isilmé could only guess this was the prince, whose coronation she was here to attend. Before the royal pair now was a small band of Dwarves, offering up a sword and crown, and talking in hushed tones in their hard voices.

As she started to proceed to the throne something made Isilmé freeze. A sound to her left, so sad, so familiar. She dared to turn her gaze and there she beheld a sight that both appalled and angered her. In the corner was a man, tugging harshly on the harness of a muzzle, making the bear he was subduing groan in distress.

"On yer feet y' great lumbering beast," he command, wrenching the leash harder as the whip in his other hand sliced the air, licking the side of the bear's head with a sharp snap. Again the heartbreaking groan as a fine line of blood appeared where the whip had landed. Everything around her seemed to fade away until all she her senses were encompassed by the need to help this creature. Without knowing what she was doing she felt her feet moving, found herself drawn to the bear and it's "keeper". She held a hand out before her and felt the power of Ehlonna flowing through her. The bear suddenly quieted and looked at her, it's deep brown eyes peering out from behind straps of thick leather.

She knew she could do nothing about it's lot in life without the risk of loosing face before the court, but she could help it's hurts. She kept her hand outstretched and closed her eyes, moving forward until she felt the warmth of a living body. The bear bumped her hand with it's nose but remained silent and still besides. She ignored the incessant insinuations from the animal handler that she stay back, more focused now on what the animal needed. Before she opened her eyes she knew by the release of tension in the bear's muscles that it's injuries were now a resentful memory. Knowing she couldn't look again on the poor beast without her heart aching for it, she simply turned and made her way to the throne.

Now as she turned she could see the procession of patrons had dwindled and all that remained was a man, kneeling before the dais in piece-mail, his black hair tousled with travel. As she moved closer she caught sight of his face as he turned it upwards to his king in supplication. He was barely a man at all. No lines of age had touched his skin, and though his blue eyes were full of worry she could sense no sign of the jadedness that humans gained with their age. She heard him mention something of an attack on his village, but seemed to be focusing his concern towards his sovereign.

"I have heard your words, Vallor," the wizened king said in a gentle tone, "and that will be the end of it." The conversation appeared to have met its end before its completion for the prince laid a hand on his father's shoulder to signal Isilmé's approach. The old man's face borrowed a smile from somewhere in his memory and offered it to their visiting dignitary. "Ah, child," he stood slowly, grasping the arm of his chair for support. Isilmé held back the urge to raise a brow at his greeting. Child indeed, but not to him. She not only matched him in years, but surpassed. She had been walking and talking when he had first taken the throne, or so she'd been told. He reached out a hand and beckoned her closer, leaving the boy Vallor struggling out of his kneel at the base of the steps.

Isilmé moved past the boy, but looked at him closer. So young to be serving as a soldier. So young to be filled with so much worry. She suddenly felt much older than she had but a few minutes ago. He looked up towards her now, his face grim though he looked to be in no hurry to leave. She granted him a comforting smile and was rewarded with a sharp militaristic nod and the slightest hint of a smile in return.

"King Marnus," she said as she turned back to the humans' royalty. She lowered her head, bringing the tips of her fingers to her forehead as she spoke. She extended her hand to him as she looked up, only to repeat the gesture towards his son, "Young Prince."

"It has been many years, Isilmé," Marnus replied with the trace of a chuckle. "I trust your father will be joining us."

"He will, Majesty," she said slowly, the forming of these words seeming odd to her tongue, "but not until the night of the coronation. He sends his regrets that he could not make it here for the morning service, but sends me in his stead."

The king turned to his son with a weary smile. "You may remember her father from your lessons, Boy. He has long upheld the alliance between our people and his."

"Then you would be of the Naïlo bloodline," the prince asked with more statement than question. Without waiting for an answer he added, "You don't look it."

"I bear more of my mother than my father, Highness."

"By whatever you bear, you are appreciated sight to these old eyes. Make yourself welcome in my halls," Marnus interrupted, easing back into his chair.

"You are most kind, Majesty, but if you will allow it, I am weary from the travel and…"Isilmé started in an attempt to remove herself from this mass of goings on.

"Of course." Again Marnus interrupted, though this one was as much appreciated as the last. The cupbearer took up the insinuation, setting aside his pitcher to stand at the ready. "The boy will lead you to what I hope you'll find to be a suitable room."

"My thanks again, Majesty," Isilmé forced herself not to turn even as she spoke the words. She was thankful also for the boy's swiftness and silence as he led her up several spiraling flights of stone hewn stairs and through the twisting halls. When he had at last slowed his pace they stood before a door identical to every other in the hallway and Isilmé wondered if she would ever be able to find it on her own. With a sigh of relief she thanked the boy who smiled and ran off.

She opened the door and it answered with a warm creak of its hinges. She slid her pack from her shoulder to the floor and closed the door, enveloping herself in the silent dimness of her room. Without effort she made it to the bed and stretched out on her stomach, gazing at the bits of sunlight that made it through the part in the heavy curtains and danced upon the floor. This would be a long day that led to a very long night.


	4. A minor setback

Isilmé sighed softly to herself as she flung open the curtains and leaned against the windowsill, looking down at the courtyard far below her. She wondered if this was what caged birds felt like. Her gaze stretched beyond the courtyard and beyond the city's gates to the tops of the trees in the forest she had emerged from with Narmo. She could almost see him if she thought about him hard enough. She could imagine clearly the young wolf bounding along the forest floor, weaving through trees and bushes with ease. She could hear him call long and loud, searching for playmates who would help him run down the endless squirrels or another lonely wolf that would help him bring down a deer when he hungered. She lay her palm against the pane of glass and smiled.

"You're the lucky one, my friend," she whispered in the silence. With a flick of her wrist she unlatched the window and pushed it open wide, breathing deeply the fresh scent of the summer's wind. She could smell apples and it made her mouth water and her stomach mildly complained. She and Narmo had subsided reluctantly on dried fruits and hard bread for weeks now. She was sure Narmo was eating well, why shouldn't she.

She turned from the window, leaving it open to all the elements, just as she liked it, and opened her door. A quick look to the left and right down the hall revealed a host of what she could only assume were castle staff, some walking at a relaxed pace, others scurrying with food, linen, or buckets of steaming water. That was a good idea too.

When a girl noticed Isilmé peeking out of the door, she planted herself before the room and stood as if awaiting orders.

"Anything I can get Milady?"

Isilmé paused a moment in surprise. She had thought it would be harder than this, or that she'd simply have to ask for directions on where to get her own things. She looked down at herself, smudged still with the dust of travel, her clothing worn and simple. She could've laughed just now, but she didn't want to insult the girl. "Would it be possible to get something to eat and water for a bath?"

"Right away, Milady," the girl answered with a smart curtsy and away she disappeared down the hall. With that Isilmé closed the door and took a better look at the now bright room. Besides the door she now stood at there were two more. One seemed to lead to a small stone balcony. Those doors she threw wide as well.

When she opened the last set of doors she was met with the soft sweet smell of flowers and the sight of a large bathing room. In one corner was a dressing screen, painted carefully to depict what someone had imagined bathing nymphs to look like. They were mistaken, Isilmé thought, but the painting was lovely by any means. Opposite the dressing screen was a copper tub standing on legs carved to be dragon claws and, to her astonishment, was large enough for her to sleep in. How that girl would ever find enough hot water to fill it was beyond her and she thought of trying to catch the girl and cancel her request when there was a sharp knock at her door.

Outside stood the girl with a covered tray and boy standing beside her juggling a silver cup and two pitchers. She stood aside and let them set their offerings on the round polished dark-wood table near the open balcony doors. Before Isilmé could speak the girl informed her that her hot water would be up in short order, as well as a selection of clean clothing. With that the pair dismissed themselves.

Isilmé allowed herself a girlish giggle once they'd gone, and turned to look back at the food on the table. She set aside the cover and surveyed the selection. She sat down, smelling everything before she chose a thick piece if warm grained bread and a bright green pear that smelled as if Ehlonna herself had picked it. As she devoured the fresh food she let the warm fruit juice drip down her chin, catching it with a fingertip only to suck it up from there. She refused to let any of it waste, and when she had finished only the stem and seeds remained. She picked sparingly at a flaky tart that had been sent up as well, but found it too sweet for her tastes.

She'd forgotten about the pitchers and had just begun pouring herself a cup of the deep red wine when there was another knock. This time when she answered it there were four men, each bearing a staff across their shoulder, draped with large steaming pails. She stood aside again and watched in fascination as they emptying the just boiled water into the copper tub. Two of them offered a smile as they took up their buckets and left her alone again. Again she giggled, feeling almost a queen. She shut the doors behind her and peeled away her muddy clothes, tossing them to the floor. She tested the water carefully as she perched on the lip of the tub and sighed as she let herself sink neck deep into the water.

How long she lay in the comforts of the water she didn't know. She dreamed, though, of the mother she barely knew anymore. She dreamed of the day she left the bright walls of her mother's rooms and made her way through the forests to her father's glade. She could feel the soft touch of her mother's pale skin and smell the lavender in her mother's long hair. She could seea worried expression break through a stoic face. She could see another, though not well. Pale hair, bright eyes, though his face was blurry. In this state of floating visions she strained to see his face, a small hand reaching towards him but just as her dreaming eyes began to come into focus her real eyes opened.

The water in the tub had cooled now, sloshing over the edgesat Isilmé's startled awakening. With the hint of a shiver she wrapped herself in one of the lavish towels and made her wayout into the room. Her food still sat on the table, untouched by any but herself. The windows still bore themselves to the splendor of the outdoors, but the light of the day was leaking out of the sky to make way for twilight. It would be expected of her to be seen at the feast this evening. There would be a weeks worth of feasting, she knew, for that was how the humans were, but she would still be expected this evening. She seated herself on the edge of the bed, her eyes caught by the neat pile of clothing beside her.

Gowns.

She vaguely remembered wearing clothing like this, but she had been young and as of now she could barely remember how to get herself into something like this. She picked through the pile, finding to her dismay that this pile represented a single outfit. She looked outside and saw the sun setting ever faster and with a dejected sigh she cast off the towel and tried to start piecing together this puzzle.


End file.
